


How Can I Assist You?

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Hostage Situations, M/M, Robbery, bank robber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Welcome to Clive’s Bank and Trust. My name’s Blaine, how can I assist you today?"</p><p>"You can assist me by putting both of your hands face down on your quasi-desk and be absolutely silent." He flashes Blaine a pleasant smile. “Trust me, you want to cooperate. There’s a five year old three tellers to your right and I’d hate to see anything bad happen to her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Can I Assist You?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Klaine AU Friday.

"It’s not permanent," his father had said.

"It’s just something to do while you get through college," his father had said.

"It’s a foot into the real world," his father had said.

"You’re climbing the corporate ladder," his father had said.

And yet Blaine enters Clive’s Bank and Trust and feels like he’s lost complete control of his life. He doesn’t know how he went from studying music to being a bank teller. In fact, he can’t even tell you the story. The fact of the matter is that it happened and now Blaine is stuck in the nine-to-five day job that requires him to dress in pressed pants and oxford shirts.

At least he still has his bow ties.

Being a bank teller is exactly as boring as it sounds. He spends almost all of his day doing nothing more than beating more Angry Birds levels. It’s New York and if people need a bank they interact with the machine located in the vestibule. People don’t come in and talk to the tellers. People come in and open and close accounts and Blaine doesn’t even get to do that much.

No, he stands behind a high wooden partition and watches the people of New York flit by through the glass doors.

He should quit. Every night he gets home, orders Chinese takeout, and tells his beagle Lacy that he’s going to quit.

But he doesn’t. He’s an out-of-college, twenty-something guy with a major in music theory. There’s nowhere for him to go and dreams don’t exactly pay for his studio apartment.

It’s dull and boring and nowhere near as close to the life Blaine had always pictured for himself, but it’s life, nonetheless.

He’s wearing a grey dress shirt with a subtle pinstripe that day, paired with a fine tailored pair of black pants and wingtips. His bow tie is navy with a fine green-and-white plaid and his hair is tamed and styled.

Like every other day, Blaine Anderson is the most dressed up person at work.

But he still puts his station in order, pins on his name tag, and wakes up his computer. He might hate his job, but that doesn’t mean he won’t give it 110%.

It’s Friday and he isn’t surprised when Mrs. Jacobson walks in right after his lunch break with what appears to be a very heavy bag.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Jacobson."

She’s an older woman, a widow, with three fully grown sons and four grandchildren. Blaine knows—he’s seen the pictures. He also knows that Mrs. Jacoby plays bingo every night and that she always comes in Friday afternoon to deposit her winnings. Normally in the form of coin rolls.

Blaine has to love her for the fact that she still even uses coin rolls.

She’s one of Blaine’s regulars, if a bank teller can have regulars. There’s Anna, a sixteen year old who loves the sense of accomplishment she gets when she hands over her paycheck, and Arnie, who doesn’t trust ATMs and continually tells Blaine that he reminds him of someone (Blaine still doesn’t know who).

It’s a range, that’s for sure, but it’s also the only color in Blaine’s job (aside from his bow ties, of course).

So it’s strange the moment  **he**  walks into the bank.

Blaine’s never seen him before, which isn’t strange. He could be opening an account. That would make the most sense. But he doesn’t slip away to the sectioned off waiting area; he winds carefully and gracefully through the line even though there’s only one person in it. When he looks over at the tellers, he makes direct eye contact with Blaine.

"…One-sixty, one-eighty, two hundred." Blaine tucks the stack of twenty dollar bills into a pile and pushes them across the counter. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Owen."

Blaine isn’t sure what Owen does, only that he’s always making bills larger or smaller. Always twenties. Maybe one day he’ll actually ask.

Stacy and Jared are both occupied with other customers and so Blaine isn’t immensely surprised when  **he**  walks up to Blaine’s station. He’s… Remarkably beautiful up close, dressed in a heavy coat and scarf—even his gloves are still on. Well, it is rather cold out tomorrow.

"Welcome to Clive’s Bank and Trust. My name’s Blaine, how can I assist you today?"

Sometimes he feels like a really lame telemarketer.

The man doesn’t say anything. He leans forward, arms folding on the wooden ledge, his head cocked to the side.

His eyes are very blue.

When he speaks, his voice is high in pitch and low in volume.

"You can assist me by putting both of your hands face down on your quasi-desk and be absolutely silent." He flashes Blaine a pleasant smile. “Trust me, you want to cooperate. There’s a five year old three tellers to your right and I’d hate to see anything bad happen to her."

All of the color leaves Blaine’s face, eyes focused in surprise on the smiling face before him. He opens his mouth but the man shakes his head, moving his coat slightly and— _holy fuck_.

He has a  _gun_.

Blaine tries to breathe.

"Good, good. You should calm down. We don’t want a panic, do we? Who knows who would get shot?"

One would think that seeing bank heists in movies, television, comics, and books would vaguely prepare someone to be a hostage (oh god, is he an accessory? He doesn’t know what these words mean) in this sort of situation.

They really don’t.

The thief isn’t even wearing a mask.

"We’ll make this very easy. You will get your manager and tell him that I have to speak with him and then you will go back to doing your job. See? No one has to die."

What’s that thing they say about seeing a villain’s face?

"My boss is gone for the evening," Blaine answers, more on autopilot than anything else, and he frowns before leveling Blaine with a gaze. Blaine knows there’s a button beneath his desk, he’s supposed to  _push_  it, but the robber is staring him down with those unrelenting blue eyes. If there’s any hesitation, any sign that the plan is going wrong, it doesn’t show on the robber’s face. In fact, he smiles.

"Well, then you’ll just have to do." He makes a signal over his shoulder and moments later three other people enter the bank. It isn’t loud. One stands by the door and the other two go to speak to the other tellers. No shots are fired, no one screams, and Blaine has a gun being pointed at his chest.

"Grab your keys, honey. We’re going to the vault."


End file.
